


Three Months on Vulcan

by startraveller776



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Humor, Romance, Vulcan Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 01:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20283073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startraveller776/pseuds/startraveller776
Summary: When grad student Trip Tucker lands a scholarship to spend a semester at the engineering institute on Vulcan, he gets more than he bargained for.





	1. Month One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HopefulNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopefulNebula/gifts).

> **IMPORTANT:** This is a repost of an old fic. I have been startraveller776 for over 15 years on various sites, but also have gone by "Misplaced" and "MisplacedMama." If you have doubts, by all means, shoot me an email at misplacedmama @ gmail . com. I'll be happy to chat.
> 
> **A/N:** HopefulNebula was one of the winners of the reviewer’s contest at the Delphic Expanse. Her reward? A custom fanfic written by moi. :) (I’m so honored!)
> 
> What she wanted in her story: 1). Trip & T’Pol, 2). A misunderstanding of some kind, and 3). Something uniquely alien.
> 
> What she didn’t want in her story: 1). Taking “These Are the Voyages” as canon (so with you there, hon), 2). Anything dark in tone, and 3). Character death.
> 
> With her permission, I went AU. Hopefully, this meets her expectations.
> 
> Lots of information taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, Memory Alpha and Memory Beta. (And some stuff from _Enterprise_ episodes.)
> 
> Finally, special thanks to Honeybee for wielding the red pen!

Note to self: When offered a spot in an exchange program on a desert planet, think twice before accepting.

I didn’t know a body could sweat this much and still function. In the short walk between the transport station and my ride, I soaked through my clothes. And my duffle bag suddenly getting damn heavy didn’t help either. On paper, gravity 1.4 times that of Earth’s hadn’t sounded so bad. Reality turned out to be something else entirely. At this rate, they’d be shipping me back in a box before the semester was up. There was no way in hell I was going to survive this.

Ahead, next to a rusty colored vehicle, a Vulcan stood holding a sign with my name in delicate script: “Charles Tucker III.” Between the bulky robes he or she wore and the sweat dripping in my eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. How a person could wear so much fabric in this heat, I’d never understand. Hell, I’d gladly strip down to my underwear if I thought it’d make a difference. It probably wouldn’t.

“I’m Charles Tucker,” I said, making the _ta’al_ with my hand as I approached. Up close, I guessed my escort was a middle-aged female—or a very effeminate male. I went with the former.

She returned the salute. “You may call me T’Les,” she said, opening a compartment in the back of the vehicle.

I slung my bag into the trunk and rubbed my forehead. “Call me Trip.” I had to stop myself from extending my hand. When I got accepted into the exchange program, they spent hours drilling into me proper social protocol. It boiled down to: “Don’t touch anything or anyone, don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and generally, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.”

T’Les opened a door and gestured for me to hop in. The temperature inside the vehicle was moderately better—still sweltering, but at least I didn’t feel like my skin was going to melt off.

I blew out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Expressing gratitude is an Earth custom.” Her tone was cool as she pulled the vehicle away from the station.

Not exactly the response I was expecting. “Okay.” I glanced at her, wondering if I’d already offended someone in my first ten minutes on the planet. Her expression was placid—completely unreadable. Oh yeah, this was going to be buckets of fun. “So,” I said, trying to make conversation, “they didn’t tell me where I was gonna be staying.”

“On your application, you indicated a desire for cultural immersion,” T’Les said, not bothering to look my way. “I will be hosting you during your visit.”

“Thank you for putting me up.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Sorry,” I said, wincing. “My mama taught me good manners—uh, human manners, that is. It’s a habit.”

T’Les raised a brow. “There is no offense where none is taken.”

“I like that.” I grinned.

When she said nothing else, I figured she wasn’t up for chatting. I leaned back in my chair and took in the scenery. It was a desert, but not like the endless golden dunes of the Sahara. Vulcan was more russet with broken, rocky hills and patches of plant life. Kind of like Arizona—but not quite.

At some point, I must have nodded off. I woke to T’Les saying my name, my legal name, and from her expression, I gathered she’d been trying to rouse me for a bit.

“We have arrived,” she said. Apparently satisfied I was alert enough to catch her meaning, she exited the vehicle.

I stumbled out, my legs hitting the ground with a hard thump. Back on Earth, I weighed about seventy-seven kilos. Here? About thirty kilos more. No wonder they put me in a killer fitness regime before I shipped out. Not that I had minded going from a scrawny grad to a more beefy fellow—Natalie had certainly enjoyed my new physique. I needed every ounce of new muscle to carry my now heavy body—and duffle bag—from the vehicle to the front gate.

T’Les led me through an enclosed garden. Well, “garden” wasn’t quite the right word for it. There were a couple plants, but the area was mainly decorated with odd-shaped sculptures. The house itself was pretty much made out of windows—something that would infringe on privacy if it weren’t for the high, hand-carved walls surrounding the garden and house.

Inside, the décor was minimalist—almost Asian in style. I made a mental note to ask for permission to photograph the place. My sister, Lizzie, would love the design—being an amateur architect, and all.

“The guest quarters are on the south end of the house,” T’Les said, pointing in the direction I ought to go. “You may wish to rest before aru-yem.”

I nodded, swallowing the thank you itching to escape my lips, and headed off to find a bed. I hoped Vulcans didn’t sleep on wooden benches. My body was aching for a soft mattress.

The guest quarters consisted of a large bed (with a mattress, thank heavens), a wardrobe, and a short stool-like chair in front of a pot full of what looked like coals. The room was adjoined with a small bathroom—I think. I didn’t recognize any of the facilities. It was going to be real exciting trying to figure those out.

I dropped my duffle bag and plopped onto the bed. Thankfully, there were only two windows in the room, high on the south and east walls. I might not be a prude, but I’d sleep better knowing someone couldn’t accidentally peep on me while walking around the grounds.

I lost consciousness before I could pull up the blanket.

* * *

“Mister Tucker.”

I rolled over, squinting at the silhouette darkening my doorway. The voice, while feminine, hadn’t sounded like T’Les. “Yeah?” I croaked.

“It’s time for the evening meal.” With that, she disappeared.

It took me a few minutes to get fully awake—my bladder did a good job helping out the process. In the bathroom, I stared at the accommodations for what seemed like a half-hour before deciding the oval basin near the floor was probably their version of a toilet. There was a hole in the center, and that’s what I aimed for, praying to whatever god the Vulcans believed in that I was right. As soon as my, uh, stream hit the bin, it activated some kind of vacuum—sucking away my waste through the hole. After I finished, a thin layer of liquid coated the basin from its lip to the center. A sharp scent wafted up, mildly astringent.

Washing my hands was a little less interesting. The small rectangle sink was motion activated, but it was pretty finicky about how much water it’d let me use. Not really a surprise, there—considering this was a desert planet.

I tried to smooth my ragged hair and straighten my rumpled clothes before heading out of the guest quarters. I wasn’t my picture-best but figured T’Les and whoever else would forgive me for looking a little disheveled after such a long trip.

My hostess was setting square plates of food on the low table in the living room when I emerged. She glanced up at me and waved a hand toward one of the strange bench thingamajigs beside the table. As I sat, my stomach let out a growl. Fortunately, T’Les seemed unfazed by the sound. She settled herself across from me.

Another woman—a gorgeous woman aside from her bowl haircut—joined us from the kitchen area. She seemed to be about my age—though, being a Vulcan, there was a good chance she was twice as old as me. She didn’t wear the bulky robes T’Les seemed to favor, but had on an outfit that hugged every curve of her body. My mouth went dry as I gaped at her. Somewhere in the back of my head, I remembered I had a girlfriend back home. What was her name again?

“This is my daughter, T’Pol.” T’Les’s voice snapped me out of my trance. “She is taking a sabbatical from her position on Earth.”

T’Pol. That name sounded familiar, but from where? I swallowed thickly. “Pleased to meet you.” Again, I had to stop myself from offering to shake hands. I didn’t know how the folks in the diplomatic corps managed to adapt to alien cultures so easily.

T’Pol inclined her head, but didn’t appear particularly pleased to meet me. “You are participating in the interspecies engineering exchange program.”

Now, T’Les sounded a bit uppity when she spoke—hell, most Vulcans did—but T’Pol’s tone was downright snooty. It raised my hackles.

“Yep,” I said. “The idea is the more we understand about alien technology, the better intuitive leaps we can make in engineering designs.” I gave her a cheeky grin. “Only the best and brightest get into the program. And I don’t mean to toot my own horn—” (I did.) “—but I am the best and brightest my world has to offer.”

T’Pol lifted a brow. “Surely such a statement doesn’t speak well for humanity.”

I scoffed at her comment, my cheeks burning in anger. “You don’t know me, and you obviously don’t know my people.”

“On the contrary,” she replied, disdain plain in her eyes, “I’ve had adequate enough association with humans to form an accurate opinion.”

“Doesn’t the very definition of ‘opinion’ make it impossible for it to be accurate?” I shot back. My temper was starting to get the best of me.

“For a human, yes.” T’Pol picked up the wooden tweezer utensil next to her plate. “Vulcans are not subject to emotion. Our opinions are based in logic.”

“Yeah, I bet.” It struck me then where I’d heard the name T’Pol before. One of my poker buddies was a graduate student in xenolinguistics. He complained at nearly every game about his hard-assed professor in Vulcan phonology. He called her the Ice Princess. He called her other names, too.

I snatched a piece of something off my plate and shoved it in my mouth to keep from making a more biting retort. It probably wouldn’t look too good on my record if I got kicked out of T’Les’s house the first night I arrived. I wasn’t going to let T’Pol screw this up for me.

As I chewed, I noticed that the room had gone dead quiet. Both women stared at me as if I’d sprouted a third eye. “What?” I asked after I finished my bite.

“We do not touch food with our hands.” T’Pol waved her utensil to accentuate her point.

My face turned bright red. I knew that, of course. It had been one of the many rules I’d been briefed on—don’t touch anything or anyone—but I’d forgotten it in the heat of our argument. I could swear there was triumph in T’Pol’s olive green eyes as she gazed at me—as if I had further proven her opinion that humans were bumbling idiots.

I was caught in a conundrum. The polite thing to do—at least, if they were human—was to apologize. Or to thank T’Pol, grudgingly, for reminding me. I picked up the wooden pincer thing and took another bite—properly this time. T’Les gave me a brief nod of approval before returning to her meal. T’Pol seemed disappointed. I guess she was expecting more arm-pit-scratching ape behavior from the human. Score one for Trip Tucker.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I spoke up. “So, do all Vulcan female names start with a 't'?”

“Only those who will one day become clan leaders,” T’Pol answered, that cold smugness back in her eyes.

“It is a heavy responsibility,” T’Les cut in, giving her daughter a reproachful look. “The 't' signifies belonging to the clan. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one or the few. The matriarch must give herself completely in the service of the clan.”

“Oh,” I said, impressed despite how much T’Pol got on my nerves. “Are you the matriarch?” I directed the question to T’Les.

“No. I am next in line.” She took a sip from her cup. “I understand that clans on Earth have a patriarchal order.”

“A long time ago, but our families have evolved since then.” This was the kind of discussion I’d been hoping to have—interesting and polite.

“I have observed that humans place little value on family order, or family needs.”

And of course, T’Pol had to ruin the conversation with her judgments.

“What makes you say that?” I narrowed my eyes at her. My temper was a hop, skip and a jump away from flaring up again.

“Human children choose their own path in life,” she said. “They place their wishes ahead of those of their parents.”

“That’s because it’s our parent’s wish that we choose our own path,” I replied, setting down my utensil and standing. I’d lost my appetite. “You know, for all your belief in infinite diversity in infinite cultures, you sure as hell have a narrow-minded view of my people.” I turned to T’Les. “I apologize if I’m being rude, but I think I’ll retire for the evening, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course.” T’Les bowed her head.

I had only one regret as I walked away: I didn’t ask how a person bathed in this place.

* * *

I wouldn’t be bragging if I said that I was probably the smartest engineer on Earth. I’d even been contracted by Starfleet a few times to work with the boys at Jupiter station. I heard the whispers that I was the next Henry Archer—that I might be _better_ than Henry Archer, but it never went to my head. I loved the work itself more than any back-slapping from my peers. There was no greater high than pushing the boundaries of warp theory, or coming up with a new design that turned current warp mechanics on its head. It was even better when I got to test my hypotheses myself.

Here on Vulcan, it turned out that I was pretty average when it came to this stuff—more like remedial, if I was being honest. My fellow students at the Vulcan Engineering Institute could do advanced calculus in their heads in a split second. I could too, just not that fast. On top of that, Vulcan warp theory was completely foreign. If they based everything in logic, it was no logic I understood.

Two weeks into classes, I was floundering. The math itself made sense, but how the Vulcans applied it seemed upside-down and backwards. Every time I thought I was close to catching on, we moved onto something even more confusing. I shared my frustration with T’Les one evening when T’Pol wasn’t around. (I’d let hell freeze over before I admitted any weakness to the Ice Princess. She was always on the hunt for ways to take me down a notch or ten.)

T’Les suggested my issue was a culture gap rather than something to do with my intelligence—as I’m sure T’Pol would have told me. That’s how I found myself in a class on Vulcan history, taught by the most cantankerous Vulcan I’d ever met. It seemed to be Soval’s sole purpose in life to take every offense lobbed at him—imagined or otherwise.

There were two things that made putting up with the ornery professor worth it (aside from getting a better grasp on the logic behind Vulcan warp theory): Lots of field trips, and a class primarily made up of folks who worked at the Earth embassy. Humans. Goddamn wonderful _humans_.

“Behold,” Soval said, pointing to a crater filled with rocky formations that almost resembled broken buildings, “the City of Shadows. Lore tells us that the Warlord D’Vir endeavored to be the first to develop space flight, and in order to prevent D’Vir’s success, a rival Warlord Nu’Val attacked with neutron bombs. Over one million lives were lost here.”

Amanda Cole, a soldier from the embassy who I’d become friends with, elbowed me. “Watch this,” she whispered. She threw her hand into the air. “Mister Soval? I thought Vulcans were peaceful people and never went to war. I mean, killing millions just to keep one guy from getting into space doesn’t seem logical.”

Soval let out an exasperated sigh. “Miss Cole, I’d ask if you were feigning persistent ignorance or if your intelligence is truly this lacking, but I’d prefer not to know the answer.” He muttered something in Vulcan under his breath.

I snickered along with Amanda as Soval droned on about the history of Vulcan spaceflight. Normally, it was a subject I’d find fascinating, but our teacher was only expounding on the impact of space travel on Vulcan culture rather than the mathematics behind it. He’d get to some of that later—in the classroom. One of the blessings and curses of Vulcan nature was their absolute thoroughness.

“Hey, you want to come to the embassy for beers when we get back?” Amanda asked while we were hiking back to the transports.

“Do you even need to ask?” I grinned.

“Great!” She flashed me a brilliant smile, linking her arm in mine. “I hope you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, because we’re going to get smashed.”

I laughed.

Soval stood by the vehicles, glaring at each of the students as they filed into the transports. After a couple weeks in his class, I figured it was his default expression.

“Mister Soval, I think that was your best class ever!” Amanda exclaimed when she brushed past him. “I can’t wait for the next one, though I don’t know how you’re going to top it.”

I bit my lip to keep from chuckling.

Soval’s eyes went flat. “Indeed, Miss Cole. I’m certain you will wait with bated breath, to borrow the human vernacular, to be under my tutelage once more,” he replied, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

Amanda pretended to be shocked. “How did you know?”

I shook my head and pushed her into the transport. “Give the man a break.”

Behind us, I heard Soval grumble, “Ish-kan kitau goh sut t’patam.”

_That child only brings headaches_.

“Hey,” I said, turning around. “Ein t’etek stariben Vuhlkansu.” _Some of us speak Vulcan_. Basic mastery of the language was one of the requirements on my application. Mastery of pronunciation was a whole ‘nother ball of wax, though—which was why I was content to let Vulcans think I couldn’t speak or interpret their native tongue.

Amanda popped her head out of the car. “Yeah, and I’m not a child.” She winked at our instructor and plopped back onto her seat.

Soval’s response was another weary sigh.

A few hours later, I sat on a stool in the embassy bar, throwing back bourbon with Amanda and swapping childhood stories about Florida. I hadn’t gotten drunk in many years, having left my frat party days behind when I got my undergrad degree. After putting up with austere Vulcan decorum for the last four weeks, I was aching for a little nostalgia.

The bartender filled our drinks, and Amanda lifted hers high in the air. “To our professor. May he ever be stern.”

“Here, here.” I clinked my glass with hers, then threw back the burning liquid. “Why do you give him such a hard time?”

Amanda grinned. “Because I’m bored and it’s fun.” She leaned closer. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I kinda like him.”

I raised my brows. “You _like_ him? Mister Cranky-Pants Vulcan?”

“Not that way, you perv!” She batted my arm, laughing. “Although, if he were sixty years younger and willing, I might be into him.” At my exaggerated look of disgust, she laughed again. “Seriously, though. He’s the most interesting Vulcan I’ve ever known. They’re all so robotic, you know? Soval… Well, he’s not. He’s sarcastic and mean. I swear there’s a well of passion corked up inside that man just begging to be released.”

“Now I know you’re drunk.” I took her glass away. “I’d better get you to your quarters.”

“Ha!” She snorted. “Like a MACO needs help from a pansy-ass engineer!” She nearly tumbled off her stool. “I’ll do the escorting, thank you very much.”

I snickered, rolling my eyes. We were both pretty sauced—her more than me—and it took a few wrong turns before we found her room. We earned a few odd looks as we crashed into walks, giggling like idiots. Man, it felt nice not to worry about rules.

After three tries, Amanda finally got her room code right and the door slid open. “You’re wasted, Mister Tucker,” she said. “You can crash in the extra bunk. My new roommate hasn’t arrived from Earth yet.”

I waved my hand. “I’d better not.”

“Oh, come on.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the room with her. “What’s that Vulcan family going to think if you show up drunk? Better to face them sober tomorrow, right?”

There was a certain logic to her statement. Deep down in my gut, though, something wasn't quite right about this scenario, but my brain was a tad fuzzy when it came to thinking straight. “All right.”

“Good.”

As soon as the door closed, Amanda planted her lips on mine. I was almost tempted to kiss back, to accept the offer her hips were making by way of grinding into me. Sex was one of the many comforts of home I missed, but my mama raised a gentleman not a cad.

I pushed Amanda away. “I can’t,” I said, wiping her lipstick from my mouth. “I’ve got a girl back home.”

Her eyes widened as she stepped farther back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She sank into the chair at her desk, hands over her face. “I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, now.” I patted her shoulder. It felt awkward after what had just transpired. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I hadn’t thought of Amanda that way, still didn’t despite my body’s response to her kiss. It hadn’t occurred to me before now to let her know I was off the market.

Amanda pressed her forehead against the desk. “I think I’m going to die of humiliation.”

I took that as my cue to take off. “I’m really sorry,” I said before leaving.

Fortunately, the Vulcan public transit system was the kind of logic that even a drunken fool of a human could understand. I made it back to T’Les’s in one piece, with nary an accidental scenic route.

The house was dark when I arrived. Both women were probably meditating in their private quarters. All the better. I’d rather not suffer T’Pol’s scathing recriminations if they could be avoided. I made it three steps past the front door when I saw the dark figure sitting in the living room. I tried to tip-toe through the room. When the figure stirred, I crossed my fingers it was T’Les. She was a helluva lot more tolerant than her daughter.

“You missed _aru-yem_.”

It was not T’Les. _Son of a bitch_.

“Aw, hell.” I sighed. “Sorry ‘bout that.” I didn’t wait for a response before high-tailing it toward my room. I was not up to bandying words with the Ice Princess.

T’Pol had other ideas, though. She followed behind me as she said, “You should have sent us a communique as courtesy dictates.”

I ground my teeth. “I said I was sorry.”

“We prepared food for you.” The woman wouldn’t let up.

I spun around and had to steady myself against the wall. “How many more times do you want me to apologize?” I glared down at her.

She clasped her hands behind her back, oblivious to the daggers I was staring at her. “Where were you?”

“Having drinks with a friend at the embassy.” Why was I telling her?

“Who is this friend?” Her eyes bored into mine.

I shook my head. “None of your damn business.”

She pursed her lips ever so slightly. “It is my business, Mister Tucker, when your behavior reflects poorly on this clan.”

I ran my hand over my face and groaned. “Two things.” I held up two fingers—I think. “First, how many times do I have to tell you my name is Trip? I call you by your name, maybe you could call me by mine. As courtesy dictates.” I stepped closer to her, forcing her to back up. “And second, I’m sick and damn tired of you picking on me every chance you get. I’m a smart, respectful, nice guy and you treat me like I’m some mangy animal that needs to be put down.”

“You are barely civilized.” Her eyes grew wide when her back touched a wall.

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” I leaned over her, resting my arm above her head to keep from falling over. “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid if you took that stick out of your ass, and tried—honest to God, _tried_ to get to know the real me, you’d find out you like me. And heaven forbid you like a goddamn uncivilized human being—because that would screw up your ‘accurate’ opinion of me and my people.” I snorted. “What does your prophet say? ‘Ma etek natyan—teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on.’”

I hoped what I said was, “We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of us.” And if that’s what I said, I hoped to hell it wasn’t a marriage proposal in her culture.

She stared up at me, speechless for the first time in our association. I was pretty sure that meant I won this round, and I should have walked back to my room, reveling in my victory.

Thanks to the alcohol, however, I couldn’t hold off stupid for that long. And what came out of my mouth next, after such a brilliant argument, was the king of all stupid.

“Damn, you smell good.”

Yep, I actually said it out loud. I wish I could say after that comment, I shuffled off to my bed with my tail between my legs, but I was transfixed by her beauty instead. Over the last few weeks, her general unpleasantness put me off from finding her as attractive as I had that first day. But free of inhibitions, I was utterly distracted by her full lips. To my shame, I wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to have her hips grind against me like Amanda’s had earlier. I might not have thought of my soldier friend that way—even after lots of beer and bourbon—but I sure as hell could think of T’Pol that way. All sorts of intimate positions flashed through my head. If I wasn’t drunk, it would have scared me.

“You smell like fermented grain,” T’Pol said in a breathy voice.

It was just the slap in the face I needed. I backed up, despite the overwhelming urge to take her into my arms and taste her. Anyone who smelled that good had to taste good too. Like a mix of exotic spices and honey. I backed away faster, almost tripping over my feet.

“I’m gonna go to bed now,” I said, thrusting a thumb over my shoulder. I left her standing there, gawking at me. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow—in more ways than one.

* * *

Waking up with a hangover was bad enough. Waking up with a hangover and a decent enough memory of the events of the previous night was worse. Waking up with a hangover to the sound of a gong at the butt-crack of dawn and a decent memory of the previous night was the pinnacle of awful. At the moment, dying seemed like the most viable option.

“Trip.”

Just when I thought I’d reached the worst of the worst, T’Pol was standing in my doorway. I half-considered hiding under the covers and pretending I was still out cold.

“Trip,” she said again.

Yeah, there was no escaping this. I sat up, catching the blanket before it fell off me. Last night, the combination of gallons of alcohol and the unrelenting heat of Vulcan made it seem like a good idea to sleep in just my birthday suit.

“What is it?” My voice was thick and gruff.

“It is customary for guests to prepare the morning meal.”

I blinked at her, not quite registering the words coming from her mouth. “What?”

“We must prepare _asal-yem_.” She stepped into my room, holding a cup.

I held up a hand. “Wait, I’ve been here for a month, and this is the first I heard of it.”

“My mother wished for you to acclimate to the longer days on Vulcan before introducing this tradition,” T’Pol said, moving to the foot of my bed.

I narrowed my eyes. “And I suppose you suggested today would be a great day to start?” I wouldn’t put it past her.

T’Pol raised a brow. “T’Les has no knowledge of your inebriated state last night. I assure you this is coincidental.” She held out the cup to me. “This tea will help ease any headache you might have.”

I wrapped the blanket around myself before reaching for the drink. I took a sip and nearly spat it back in the cup. “That tastes like sh—” I cut off when I glanced at T’Pol. She stared down at me with a canted brow. “Uh, it’s awful. What’s in it?”

“Root from a _shek-tukh_ tree,” she said, retreating. “Hurry.”

I drained the cup in one gulp and held my breath to keep from retching all over my bed. It took an iron stomach to handle tea from an iron tree, I supposed. The nausea passed, and my headache got a little better.

It wasn’t until I was half-dressed that I realized T’Pol had called me by my name.


	2. Month Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Please note that I have not read any Star Trek novels aside from the TNG ones. The Vulcan culture here is from on-screen canon and my own imagination. If it conflicts with book canon or fanon, that's why.

Everything seemed to happen at once. It started with the “Dear John” message I got from Natalie. While I hadn’t been head over heels in love with her, it still was deflating to break up over sub-space. I tried not to mope.

The same day, my main instructor at the institute informed me I was being transferred to the advanced classes, now that I seemed able to grasp the logic behind Vulcan warp theory. I should have been ecstatic to move up to the big boy playground, but the workload was mind-boggling and so damn challenging.

The stress was making it impossible to sleep at night. I tried to hide my insomnia from T’Les and T’Pol—both of whom were always fussing about my “fragile human health”—but jaw-cracking yawns tended to get the best of me. I warded off my hostesses with promises to seek medical care. I made good on those promises when numbers started talking back to me during my studies.

Unfortunately, the heavy sedative I was prescribed hardly made a dent in my insomnia. Instead, I became a narcoleptic, involuntarily falling asleep at random. Like now.

I snapped awake when I heard something resembling a shot from an ancient projectile weapon. Soval glared at me from the front of the classroom, his hands still raised in the act of dropping something. At his feet was a thick book.

“Mister Tucker,” he said, lowering his arms, “did you find my presentation on the Age of Expansion to be dull?”

“Uh, no. I was just picturing it in my head, that’s all.” A few of the other students snickered.

Soval raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“You were snoring,” Amanda whispered next to me, “_loudly_.” Things hadn’t been awkward between us after that night. As luck would have it, she had been drunk enough to forget. Either that or she was pretending not to remember, which worked just as well for me. I didn’t tell her about my recent break-up, though. I valued our friendship too much to risk her making another pass at me.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked in a low voice.

“Because it was funny.”

I thought I had a mischievous streak a mile wide, but Amanda had me beat, hands down. “Glad you enjoyed it.” I rolled my eyes. I glanced at the professor who was still glaring at me. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your presentation. It wasn’t on purpose.”

Soval gave me one final glower before saying, “Class dismissed.”

Son of a bitch! I’d slept through the whole damn lecture. No more sedatives for me.

As if sensing my chagrin, Amanda said, “You can borrow my notes.” She grabbed my PADD and synced it with hers. “It was actually very interesting. You know, for a grumpy bastard, he really is a good teacher.”

“Can’t argue with you, there,” I replied, gathering my stuff.

On our way out of the classroom, Amanda paused at Soval’s desk, where the professor was now seated. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers with a sigh. “Yes, Miss Cole? Have you come to express your exuberant praise of my skills as an educator?”

Amanda placed her hand against her chest, her mouth dropping open in exaggerated shock. “Why, Mister Soval! You read my mind. And here I thought Vulcans were touch-telepaths. Your talents know no bounds.”

Soval turned his sharp gaze on me. “Mister Tucker, as a fellow member of Miss Cole’s species, please explain her illogical need to provoke me.”

I glanced at Amanda, a broad grin stretching my mouth. “Well, you see, Professor,” I said, turning back to Soval, “it means she likes you—_really_ likes you. She provokes you to get your attention. Maybe she’d be less inclined to get under your skin if you offered to tutor her—_privately_, if you know what I mean.” I winked.

Amanda gasped, her face turning several shades of red. I cocked my head and gave her my best “payback’s a bitch” smile before getting the hell out of dodge.

* * *

“Please tell me there’s some kind of Vulcan holistic cure for insomnia.” I groaned, resting my head on the counter one morning as T’Pol and I prepared breakfast. I had the day off from classes—not that it made a speck of difference to me. I was up to my elbows in homework.

T’Pol glanced up from washing fruits and vegetables, and started to reply.

I waved her off. “Never mind,” I said. “If there is one, it probably wouldn’t work for me.”

She raised a brow, but for once, didn’t argue. She passed me the basket of produce and dug in the stasis unit for _mun bar-kas_. It was like a spicy yogurt—really spicy. I tried not to stare when T’Pol bent over to retrieve a serving dish for the sauce. After our intense encounter in the hallway when I was no state to be making conversation, I’d become hyper-aware of her beauty. Being newly single didn’t help matters, either—especially when the woman in question had become nicer in the last week.

Damn, she had a nice ass.

When T’Pol straightened, I whipped my eyes back to the veggies I was supposed to be preparing. I cleared my throat and said, “You know what I miss? A nice thick juicy steak.” I wasn’t normally that thoughtless. In the past couple of days, a few things dawned on me: T’Pol liked to argue with me, and I liked arguing back. And it was a helluva lot more fun when I started the fight. On purpose.

“Humans claim to be enlightened, but you still consume animal flesh.” T’Pol crinkled her nose. The expression would have been barely noticeable on a human, but T’Pol was positively animated compared to the other Vulcans I associated with—excepting Soval, of course.

I sucked the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning as I sliced _gaspari_. “Didn’t T’Les teach you not to judge a species by their eating habits?”

“When there are suitable alternatives to the slaughter of lower life forms,” T’Pol said as she gathered the teacups, “your eating habits are, in fact, indicative of an unsophisticated society.”

I nodded, pretending to consider her argument. “So, eating meat at any time translates to being primitive. Any kind of meat?”

“Yes, unless there are no viable alternatives.” She glanced up at me with a raised brow. “Humans _have_ alternatives.”

I pulled out three plates and, with mini-tongs, arranged slices of fruits and vegetables on them. There was a specific order for the placement of food—not exactly logical. Many of the traditions Vulcans followed—adamantly, I might add—predated the Time of Awakening. Supposedly, they had gotten rid of the more barbaric customs, but I’d heard some rumors to the contrary.

“What about meat grown in labs?” I asked, continuing our discussion. “I’m not talking about full animal clones, only the meat—the non-living meat.”

“That is hardly an appropriate substitute.” She poured the tea and wiped the rims of each cup three times with a dry cloth. “It encourages a continued psychological craving for flesh.”

I let out a wry laugh, shaking my head. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” I leaned against the counter next to her. “Admit it. You’re grossed out by the idea of sentient beings digging into tender fillets of delicious animals.”

“A people who contend to be peaceful would logically refuse to take life unnecessarily.” She leveled her gaze at me.

I gave her a half-grin. “Yeah, and you are completely disgusted by the notion. Just say it.”

She crinkled her nose again. It was kind of cute. “I do find the practice objectionable, yes.”

“Ha!” I jabbed a finger toward her. “I knew it.”

“My personal preference—”

“No, no,” I said, spreading my hands in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You find it gross. I get it.” I picked up the plates and walked out of the kitchen, smirking, certain she was glaring at my back.

She tried to engage me in the argument again during breakfast, but I steered the conversation in other directions. T’Les watched our exchange with mild interest.

The next few hours, however, were far less amusing. I spent that time writing papers, doing research and plain old studying, surfacing only for lunch and dinner. As much as I loved this stuff, I’d reached my “too much of a good thing” limit. That and I was utterly exhausted.

I was staring at the wall late at night when I heard a soft knock on my door. “Come in,” I muttered.

T’Pol stepped into the room. She wore silky pajamas I’d never seen before. They clung to her body, not leaving a whole lot to the imagination. Her olive skin was exposed in the gap between her top and pants. I took sudden interest in the PADD in my hand to force some very ungentlemanly images from my mind. “Don’t tell me it’s already time to get breakfast started.”

“You asked this morning if I knew of a Vulcan cure for insomnia.”

“What?” I looked up at her, confused for a second. “Oh, yeah. No, it’s all right. I’m not a Vulcan.”

“As I am aware.” Was that a little amusement in her eyes? “While we have many differences, humans and Vulcans share several biological similarities.” She stepped closer. “The nervous system, for example, in both species is virtually the same. You may benefit from Vulcan neuro-pressure.”

“Is that like acupuncture?” One of my acquaintances at the embassy had suggested I give it a try, but I was more than a little squeamish about the idea of getting sharp, pokey things stabbed into my skin.

“I believe the human equivalent would be acupressure.” She clasped her hands behind her back, which further emphasized the thin material of her pajamas. “There are no needles involved.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I blew out a sigh and grinned, firmly keeping my eyes north of her slender neck. “So, if I was interested—and I’m not saying I am—how would I look up a Vulcan neuro-pressurest or whatever they’re called?”

“All Vulcan adults are adept in the practice.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “If you are willing, I could stimulate your neural nodes.”

“You?” My voice went hoarse at once. The idea of her stimulating anything on my person when I was already keyed up… “What does it entail, exactly?”

She glanced up. “If you would remove your shirt, I will demonstrate.” She nodded toward the bed. The _bed_.

“Uh, are you sure this is appropriate?” A small part of me wanted to jump headlong into whatever she was offering, appropriate or not. Okay, a not-so-small part of me. But I wasn’t about to start an interspecies incident because I let my hormones run amuck.

T’Pol quirked her brow in a familiar expression of long-suffering exasperation. “I would not have offered otherwise.” She sat down on the bed, and when I made no move to join her, said, “You did express interest in exploring Vulcan culture.”

By the set in her eyes, I surmised she wouldn’t be taking “no” for an answer, and I was too damn tired to fight, anyway. I pulled off my shirt. “All right, then. What do I need to do?”

She directed me to sit next to her. “Please turn your back toward me.”

I obeyed despite the nerves rattling around in my stomach. “How long does it take?”

“We will begin with three postures. This is the first,” she answered. “Though it will be a challenge for you, you must embrace patience.”

I twisted my head around to look at her. “Hey now, I can be patient.”

“Hardly,” she replied with a lifted brow. This was an “arched eyebrow” look I hadn’t seen before.

I squinted at her. “I don’t believe it. You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She lifted her chin, but that new spark still glimmered in her eyes. “If you would please turn around, we can commence.”

“Well, I’ll be,” I said as I brought my head forward. “Just when I thought Vulcans were utterly predicta—” I cut off with a tight hiss when her fingers made contact with my back.

Her touch was volcanic and electric at the same time. Chills radiated out over my skin from her fingertips, and before I could catch my breath, she dug into the muscle beneath my shoulder blades. It didn’t quite hurt, but it was damned uncomfortable. I tried not to squirm as she pushed harder. And then, something snapped. The tension beneath her fingers released like a wave, rippling outward until my entire upper body sagged from turning into mush.

“Holy hell,” I said, grinning like an idiot. “That’s amazing.”

“Indeed. Now you will perform the same stimulation of my neural nodes.”

A whole heap of tension came flooding back. I spun around. “Come again?”

“The technique is to be performed in tandem, with giving as important as receiving.” She started unbuttoning her top.

“Whoa,” I said, holding up a hand. My hormones would drain all sense from me if I didn’t stop her. “You can, uh, leave your shirt on. I’ll just work underneath it, if that’s all right?” Heat rose to my cheeks. For a relaxation exercise, this sure had me as taut as a piano wire.

“That will be acceptable.” She turned to give me access to her back.

My hands shook a little as I slipped them beneath her shirt. I placed my thumbs below her shoulder blades. Her skin was sleek burning plasma. “There?”

“One centimeter closer to the spine. There,” she said when I hit the right spot. “Press firmly.”

I tried to imitate the pressure she used on me. I had to have been bruising her.

“Harder.”

I raised my eyebrows. “If you say so.” I gave it all I had. It felt like forever before her muscles beneath my thumbs seemed to melt. T’Pol let out a gasp that sounded disturbingly like pleasure—the kind of gasp I’d heard women make in the heat of a very different kind of activity. I snatched my hands back, afraid I’d unintentionally crossed a line—and because all those ungentlemanly images came back to my mind with a vengeance.

“You performed well,” T’Pol said, her voice as cool as ever. “Lie down on the floor—on your back.”

I climbed down and, on a patch of rug next to the bed, did as she asked, wondering with apprehension where the next set of pressure points were. T’Pol knelt at my head and then leaned over me to place her fingers a hair above my hips. I squeezed my eyes shut when her drooping top provided me with a view of her rather ample bosom. It was damned impossible to keep my thoughts pure—even though she was practically gouging my transverse abs.

Just when I had decided on the futility of this exercise, that warm, watery feeling slid over my middle and down my legs. I let out a sigh that came from my toes. It felt so good—like I’d become one with the floor.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep before I could return the favor.

* * *

For a week, the northern regions of Vulcan shut down in celebration of _Sav-masu Wuh’rak_. First Rain. It wasn’t predicated on the actual first rain of the year, though. Sometimes the weather didn’t turn for weeks after Sav-masu Wuh’rak. Just as the solstices and equinoxes on Earth didn’t guarantee an immediate change in season.

The holiday fell near the end of my second month on Vulcan and was kind of like Christmas. Folks traveled home to their families to visit, to feast, to share recitations and, I was told, to dance. I’d believe the latter when I saw it with my own eyes. The part I was most looking forward to, however, was a bath. No matter how many assurances I’d been given to the contrary, I never felt all that clean after a sonic shower. The week of First Rain was the only time of year Vulcans bathed in water.

“These lands,” T’Les said as she navigated our vehicle through a windy mountain pass, “have belonged to our clan since the Age of Conquest.”

I whistled. “That long, huh?” The Age of Conquest predated spaceflight. That meant T’Les and T’Pol belonged to one of the the _Maat Afersu_—the founder clans. If I wasn’t nervous about meeting the rest of family before, I was practically pissing in my pants now. One wrong step and these folks could have me banished to the outer edge of the galaxy. And here I’d been picking fights on a regular basis with the gal third in line to head-up the clan—for _fun_. Way to be an idiot, Trip.

I glanced at T’Pol. Instead of the high-and-mighty demeanor I was expecting, she was pale, stiff with her eyes straight ahead. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have guessed she was nearly as uneasy about the gathering as I was.

I wanted to ask what was wrong but didn’t. She wouldn’t give me an honest answer anyway—not when her mother was within earshot. Maybe I’d ask her later—that is, if we continued with our nightly neuro-pressure sessions here. I hoped we did. Not because I was still battling insomnia, but because during those sessions, T’Pol and I were able to carry on an entire conversation without it devolving into one of the fiery debates we got into the rest of the time. During that hour or two (sometimes three), we were becoming friends. I was even able to keep my less-than-pure thoughts in check—until she introduced a new posture that was ridiculously intimate, of course.

“This is Khaf-spol t’Maat S’thk T’vuh,” T’Les announced as we came around a bend.

My jaw dropped as I stared at the Heart of the S’thk T’vuh Clan. It was a citadel built out of the mountainside. Reverse towers dangled to points from high outcroppings. Between them, enormous metal gates hung open, like the mouth of a mammoth dragon waiting to devour whatever came near. T’Les steered our vehicle into the fortress.

The cavernous opening forked, and T’Les took the darker lower road. At first the only relief in the blackness was the lights from the car, but as we traveled deeper into the mountain, the tunnel began to lighten. It took me a minute to realize the walls were glowing.

Before I could ask, T’Pol explained, “It is a natural phenomenon—similar to the bioluminescent algae on Earth.”

“It’s gorgeous.” It looked like someone splattered neon paint of every color all over the rocks.

“Indeed,” T’Pol said. Her eyes softened as she gazed at the tunnel. “My fascination with this _dakh-ha’tanaya luk_ as a child is, perhaps, the reason I became interested in the sciences.”

I smiled, recalling how helping my pa rebuild engines had set me on my path. “I can see that.”

I had learned during one of our neuro-pressure sessions that T’Pol was a scientist, not a linguist. She had been asked by the university to teach the phonology class because she was the most qualified. It made me wonder if Soval was a historian as I had always assumed, or if he had a different career as well.

The tunnel opened up into a spacious chamber I could only describe as a huge garage. There were dozens of vehicles parked in rows along the luminescent walls. T’Les pulled our transport into an empty spot. As I opened the door, I was struck by how cool it was. Of course, the word “cool” was relative. Back in Florida, this temperature would probably be a nice summer day, but compared to average heat index of Shi’Kahr, it was almost jacket weather here. The air was also damp-ish. It would probably be more accurate to say it was less dry than in the city.

Either way, it was a welcome relief from the conditions I’d been living in for the seven weeks.

A woman in a simple gown greeted us as we climbed out of our vehicle. She bowed her head toward T’Les and said in her native tongue, “Lady T’Les, quarters have been prepared for you, Lady T’Pol and your guest, if you should wish to rest after your long journey.”

At least, that’s what I thought she said. Her accent was unusual and thick.

T’Les nodded in return. Without a word, she led T’Pol and me toward the far end of the garage.

“Was that a servant?” I asked as we strolled along. The floor had a slight incline, and I found myself glad that I’d gotten that extra Tri-Ox shot before coming. I could already tell the oxygen was thinner here.

“Yes,” T’Pol answered. “You did not believe all Vulcans to have careers in either the fields of intellect or civic duty.” A month ago, I would have assumed that was a thinly-veiled comment on my own intellect, and it would have gotten a rise out of me. Now, I understood she was merely stating a fact—or teasing me. I still hadn’t quite come to terms with the idea of T’Pol having a sense of humor.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But it seems to me an enlightened society wouldn’t have servants. Doesn’t she have a clan to go home to for First Rain?”

T’Pol stopped walking, turning to me with a raised brow. “She is a member of S’thk T’vuh and has chosen to serve the clan in this manner. She receives compensation for her services—no differently than an attendant at one of Earth’s temporary boarding facilities. We each contribute to the prosperity of the clan in our individual ways.”

“So, your posting on Earth is for the betterment of the clan?” It was an honest question—I wasn’t trying to goad her—but there was a tiniest flicker in her eyes, a warning I’d somehow stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. I stared at her, trying to decide if this was a moment that warranted an apology.

“Trip?”

I spun around at the familiar voice, surprised to see my soldier friend coming toward us. “Amanda? What’re you doing here?” Despite my confusion at her appearance, I was kind of glad I wasn’t going to be the only human at the celebration.

She nodded toward Soval who joined her. I raised my brows. Soval was a member of the same clan? Would surprises never cease?

“The professor took your ‘advice’ literally.” Amanda smirked. “Shocker.”

“On the contrary,” Soval said with his usual gruff tone, “I was well aware Mister Tucker’s suggestion was facetious. However, in researching recalcitrant conduct among human students, I discovered that many ‘act out’ due to a lack of proper intellectual stimulation. If given an appropriate challenge equal to the student’s level of intelligence, the aberrant behavior should be eradicated.” He glanced at Amanda. “Unfortunately, the theory has yet to prove correct.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Maybe my brain is so big it can’t be challenged.”

Soval let out a weary sigh. “If you are referring to ‘having a big head’—the human idiom meaning excessive conceit—then, yes, I would agree with that assessment.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. “Are you here for the whole week?” I asked Amanda.

She shook her head. “Unlike you, Mister Cultural-Immersion,” she said, socking me in the arm, “I’ve got a job to go back to. I’m only here for two days.”

Soval raised a brow. “In which haste in getting settled would be prudent.” He gave us a bow. “If you would excuse us.”

“Of course,” said T’Les.

Amanda gave me a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, too. I’m nervous as hell,” she whispered.

“Yeah, same here,” I said, returning her embrace. The three Vulcans stared at us when we broke apart.

“Perhaps you both should refrain from such demonstrative acts during your visit.” Soval glared at me as if I’d been the one to initiate the hug. “You are here to experience the traditions of our people. Adhering to our standards of decorum is a part of that experience.” He bowed again and strode ahead.

Amanda snorted. “Grumpy bastard.”

“Miss Cole, Vulcan hearing is superior to that of humans,” Soval said without turning around or missing a step.

“I know!” Amanda shouted, making a face at his back. She gave me a playful grin before scrambling after him.

I shook my head, no longer able to contain my laughter despite the perplexed expressions of T’Les and T’Pol.

This much I knew for sure: the first two days of this week were guaranteed to be entertaining.

* * *

Vulcans did, in fact, dance.

After resting up in our quarters in one of the dangling towers, we joined the rest of the clan for the initial feast of First Rain. In a gargantuan dining hall. Everything about this place was enormous—with good reason, I learned. The clan members numbered in the hundreds, many of whom lived and worked here at Khaf-spol t’Maat S’thk T’vuh. T’Les explained there were also quite a few people missing from the celebration, prevented from coming by their postings off-world.

That was one big family.

At the matriarch’s table, those who were slated to eventually rule the family were seated with their spouses—if they had any. My hostess and her daughter were among them. T’Pol was not third in line, as I had previously believed. The order of the hierarchy was affected by some complicated rules involving age, societal status, and some other things I didn’t understand. The line of succession was fairly fluid, even T’Les could lose her spot before the current matriarch gave up the ghost. I got the feeling, though, that no one was politicking for the position—adding weight to the comment T’Les made about it being a heavy responsibility.

I sat at the same table as Soval and Amanda. I expected my buddy to stir things up a bit, knowing her knack for mischief, but she was a model of Vulcan etiquette. She was probably just as nervous as I was about screwing up this opportunity. Or Soval put the fear of God into her after our encounter in the garage.

During dinner, I learned that Soval was a member of the clan by marriage—and he was a widower. When I asked why he didn’t join his people for the holiday, he explained that after a wedding, the husband belonged to his wife’s family. There were exceptions to the rule, though they were rare. Unless he remarried, Soval would be a S’thk T’vuh for the rest of his days.

My head started spinning when he tried to explain how the family was set up—who had authority over what, the type of negotiations that went on before a pair was permitted to marry, among a slew of other things. I was grateful when he was interrupted by a gong.

T’Mal, the matriarch, stood. Her grey hair was piled high on her head in an intricate braided bun. I couldn’t tell if she stooped because of age or the mass of embroidered robes she wore. In a powerful voice that belied her frail stature, she said in Vulcan, “Our ancestors once believed rain to be the bounty of the gods, an honor bestowed upon those who had earned their favor.

“Though we no longer worship artificial gods, rain is still a compelling symbol of rebirth for our people. It revitalizes our land, quenches its thirst, just as we have been revitalized by logic, our thirst for understanding quenched by reason. Few clans understand this awakening, this embracing of new vitality, better than the S’thk T’vuh.

“We have come through the fires of conquest, through the cold space of expansion, through the awakening and the sundering. We have been beaten and broken, but have risen from the ashes, strengthened by adversity.

“For the first time, we are joined by outworlders who have chosen to better know the Vulcan heart and soul. May we, as Surak taught, embrace them in the spirit of diversity, and may they embrace us in return as who we are—a people whose wild flames of passion have been tempered by the cool rain of logic.”

“I knew it!” Amanda hissed under her breath. She blushed when Soval gave her a severe look.

T’Mal clapped her hands, her speech apparently over. Everyone rose and moved the tables until they were in a big circle. Several others went to pick up the unusual instruments and drums that had been leaning against the walls and arranged themselves into an orchestra near the head table.

My stomach did a little flip-flop when T’Pol came to sit with me. What the hell was that about? I told myself it was just nerves about witnessing something no human had been privy to before. It was definitely not because of her spicy honey scent or the softness in her olive eyes when she glanced at me. And it certainly wasn’t because her beauty took my breath away more each day. Nope. Not at all.

The music began with a single note that sounded so forlorn it made my chest ache. An assortment of men gathered in the center of the hall and divided themselves into two groups, facing each other.

“This is Esh Wuh’rak,” T’Pol whispered. “It is a representation of first stirrings of the Awakening.”

_First Breath_. Vulcans were literal to a fault when it came to day-to-day discussions, but I was discovering how poetic they waxed when it came to their rich history and traditions.

The men danced around one another with leaps and kicks—like a choreographed martial arts battle. The music sped up, growing discordant, in response. The battle lasted for a few minutes, and I had to keep from whistling. It was damned impressive. It wasn’t until later I learned all of it was spontaneous. The story was burned so deep into the Vulcan psyche they naturally fell into the roles when the orchestra struck the first chord.

The music slowed again with that single, sad note. The crowd parted to reveal a man and a woman (when did she slip in?) who stood, staring at one another. With elegant movement, they stepped up to each other and circled one another.

“D’Orvak and T’Seil,” T’Pol murmured. “They are from warring clans whose blood feud is said to have originated from the dawning of our world.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet,” I whispered back.

T’Pol glanced at me. “I am unfamiliar with Earth history.”

“It’s not history. It’s—” I cut off at Soval’s glare. “I’ll tell you later.”

The music got loud again. D’Orvak and T’Seil were pulled apart by their clans. Two matronly women joined the others—family matriarchs by my guess. The lovers pleaded with their clan heads, but to no avail. They were engulfed by the battling warriors. The dance became more violent, frenetic and with a loud boom of a drum, everyone fell to the floor.

D’Orvak and T’Seil emerged again, picking their way through the bodies on the ground. They knelt before each other, each bringing their hands up with two fingers extended. The music started again when they touched, a beautiful haunting tune that swelled to clashing notes. The other dancers rose, converging on the pair, but D’Orvak and T’Seil ran off hand-in-hand before they could be separated again.

The warriors stilled, facing each other, poised like wild animals ready to pounce. The music turned deep and menacing as a man walked through the middle of the clans. D’Orvak and T’Seil were dragged before him and forced to kneel at his feet.

“This is the Warlord V’Mar,” T’Pol whispered. “He is T’Seil’s betrothed.”

V’Mar lifted T’Seil to her feet and tried to touch her with the backs of her fingers. She backed away, shaking her head and pointing to D’Orvak. A gong rang out at the same time.

“She has invoked Kalifee and named D’Orvak as her champion,” T’Pol explained.

V’Mar and D’Orvak were given weapons—spears with a bent blade at the tips—as the warriors formed a circle around them. The orchestra played two melodies that battled with one another as V’Mar and D’Orvak danced around each other, sweeping their weapons in broad strokes. The dancing and the music accelerated until the crescendo when V’Mar slashed his spear across D’Orvak’s middle.

T’Seil knelt beside her fallen champion, laid her head on his chest as that heartbreaking note sliced through the air again. My heart clenched in response. Just like my pa, I’d always been a bit of a romantic, no matter how either of us pretended to be all macho and manly.

V’Mar stepped up to the pair and held out his hand, the melody turning demanding in tone. T’Seil stood, her posture cold and regal. She turned her back on V’Mar, the warriors parting for her as she walked away. The men cleared out, making way for the women flooding the floor now. Their dance was graceful, not at all combative like the men had been.

T’Seil stepped through the throng of dancing females, her arms curved before her as if she were carrying an infant. The women beseeched her as she passed, but she waved them off.

“T’Seil bears D’Orvak’s son,” T’Pol said. “She has forsaken the gods who allow such slaughter among her people.” T’Seil knelt at the edge of the dancers and held up her invisible baby. “She vows that her child will be a bringer of peace, the father of a new age.”

“Surak,” I murmured, understanding. I rubbed my eyes, trying to stay the tears threatening to spill out. I had never seen such a moving performance in my life. I wanted to stand and clap until my hands hurt, but everyone was silent, even as the last gut-wrenching note faded away.

T’Pol grabbed my hand. “Within the clan, this is how we express appreciation for what has been shared with us.”

I frowned, confused, until the Vulcan on the other side of me reached for my hand. Around the room, everyone did the same. I thought it was kind of neat, at first, like an intimate show of fellowship. Nothing big, but nice, anyway—especially since I got to hold T’Pol’s hand. She had such perfect, slender fingers. I was not prepared for what happened next.

Like a tsunami, I was bowled over by a tide of… Well, it was amazing and indescribable. Joy, peace, affection, and gratitude all mixed together, tumbling into me, through me. I was one with every person in that room at that moment—even the children and their bouncing wonder. I heard a gasp that mirrored my own and glanced at Amanda, sure it had been her. She was gaping at Soval.

The Vulcans were devoid of any expression, as if they weren’t experiencing anything at all. The tide receded and everyone broke contact, turning to each other in murmured conversation as if nothing had happened.

“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “No wonder you’re all so tight-knit.”

“Indeed.” T’Pol rose from her seat. “Now, we retire for evening meditations.”

As if on cue, the rest of the clan stood and made their way out of the dining all. Amanda joined me as I followed T’Pol.

“Did you feel that?” she asked with a hint of awe in her voice.

“Yeah, it was…” I trailed off, at a loss for words.

“I know.” She nodded. “It gives new meaning to the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, right?”

I glanced at Amanda, readjusting my assessment of her. MACOs didn’t have to know anything about Vulcans to work at the embassy. Amanda was the only soldier in our history class—the rest of the human students were either serving in the diplomatic corps or working in one of the interspecies programs. Unlike her battle-buddies, Amanda spoke fluent Vuhlkansu and had real interest in the people and the culture, despite her flippant attitude with Soval. And now she was paraphrasing Surak. The girl was smarter than she let on.

“Miss Cole, our quarters lie this way,” Soval said, gesturing toward the corridor opposite where I was heading.

“Right. I forgot.” She gave me a wave as she walked off with our professor.

That night, it took me hours to fall asleep. I was still overwhelmed by that moment of complete solidarity with the clan. T’Pol didn’t come to do neuro-pressure. I wished she had.

* * *

Quiet contemplation was a large part of the festivities, so I was left to my own devices for long periods of time. The first couple of days, Amanda and I were given leeway to explore the homestead as long as we were back in time for the meals—which always ended with recitations and dancing.

As Amanda and I wandered, we discovered vast indoor gardens, art galleries, music rooms and one of the biggest libraries I’d ever set foot in. We tried not to disturb any Vulcans we came across—not all of them meditated in their private quarters. Sometimes we stuck around, though, when one was playing a musical instrument. It was amazing and disconcerting to watch a placid-face Vulcan produce a melody that could make a person want to weep from the beauty of it.

Amanda’s favorite place was a conservatory built into the bottom of an outcropping. The center of the floor was a window, displaying how far up we were. Amanda liked to jump on it to make me jittery. I didn’t have a problem with heights, but the engineer in me couldn’t get entirely comfortable with the upside-down way parts of the fortress were constructed.

We sat on a bench there on morning of her last day. I was disappointed she couldn’t stay the whole holiday. It was nice to commiserate with another human over the new insights we were getting of Vulcan culture.

“Why aren’t you in Starfleet or the diplomatic corps?” I asked, stretching my legs out over the window.

Amanda shrugged. “Both mean a college degree, and I couldn’t afford that.”

“You could have gotten scholarships.” I held up a hand when she tried to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re not smart enough.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. But I was too impatient to get out and see the world—maybe even other worlds.” She leaned back on her hands. “I come from a long line of soldiers and cops. It was kind of a no-brainer when I turned eighteen.”

“Do you regret it?” I tried to imagine what it would be like in her shoes—stuck on guard duty all day.

“Hm.” She glanced at me with that rascally twinkle in her eyes. “Do I regret knowing how to kick your ass? I can’t say that I do.” She punched me in the arm with more than a little force. “Do you regret becoming a pansy-ass engineer?”

I chuckled. “Every day. I cry myself to sleep at night wishing I was half as tough as you.”

“Damn straight.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not so bad. If I were in the corps, everybody’d expect me to be all serious and intelligent all the time. And you know what? Without the MACOs, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

“You’ve got a point.” I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. There were no Vulcans around. “This wouldn’t be near as fun without you.”

Amanda twisted her head up to look at me. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You sure seem to like annoying the hell out of Miss Prissy. I’m pretty sure she likes it too.” She waggled her eyebrows.

I laughed, thinking her comment was a little payback for what I’d told Soval in class. Deep down, though, her words struck a little too close to home. “You’re incorrigible, you know.”

“What can I say? Vulcan brings out the best in me.” She winked.

We spent the rest of our visit in silence, watching the wind blow through the shrubbery far below. It was hard to believe that in a little over a month I’d be shipping off to Earth. I might never see Amanda again.

Or T’Pol.

That was a depressing thought.

* * *

After Amanda left, I holed up in the library during meditation times, perusing thick volumes on all sorts of subjects. There were ancient-looking scrolls made of a fabric-like parchment in one section, but I didn’t touch those for fear of accidentally destroying clan records.

Reading Vuhlkansu was actually easier than speaking it. My mama once said that I was a visual and kinetic learner—meaning things made more sense when I could see and touch them. I generally stuck to books on academics, but once in a while I would meander into history and philosophy. I even read some poetry written before Vulcans embraced logic. Unfortunately, the writers often used obscure references, and I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.

The rest of the week was more of the same—feasting, recitations, dancing, and meditation. Most of the dancing was historical reenactments, though none were quite as moving as First Breath had been. The Vulcan version of applause still about knocked me out of my socks, no matter how many times I’d experienced it. I began to feel a deep kinship with the clan, even though I had only chatted with few members outside of T’Les, T’Pol and Soval. Soval was less inclined to conversation after Amanda left, and I didn’t prod him. This was his vacation, after all. I didn’t blame him for wanting a break from irrational humans.

On the eve of our last day, T’Les told me I could bathe the next afternoon. I felt like a kid who had been told that Santa was coming. It was a silly thing to get all worked up about, but this Florida boy needed water.

After lunch, I was given a robe, a towel, a brick of something I figured was soap, and was pointed toward where I could get a good soak.

Like everything else, the bathing chamber was gigantic. The bath was more like an Olympic-sized pool, though the water wasn’t more than a meter deep. I hung my robe and towel on a hook, and climbed into the steaming water. It was pure bliss.

In retrospect, the rows of hooks on the wall, the size of the pool and the number of benches within it should have given me a clue that maybe I wouldn’t be bathing alone. I had just come up from giving myself a full dunk when I heard someone else in the room. Wiping the water from my eyes, I found a few men filing in and disrobing.

Men. I could handle it. It would be no different than a locker room shower after practice. I did keep my eyes averted, though, when they stepped into the pool. I wasn’t interested in a real-life biology lesson. Just knowing—from books—that Vulcans and humans were similar in that department was good enough for me.

More men joined in, and I got comfortable with sharing the water. I found a bench in the corner and closed my eyes, reveling in the warmth. After acclimating to Vulcan, I was probably going to be a giant prune when I got out, but I didn’t care. Wet was good—damn good.

I caught snatches of conversation while I relaxed. Vulcans liked to debate philosophy and academics—discussions that required all your brainpower. I wasn’t in the mood for thinking at the moment. I was in a warm, happy place.

That was short-lived, however. After a bit, I started hearing voices that were definitely not male. Some of them were kids—accompanied by splashing. Others were the fairer Vulcan sex. I cracked my eyes open with a serious case of trepidation, and my fears were confirmed. Women were bathing right along with the men, conversing with those around them as if they weren’t naked in front of God and everybody. Fortunately, they were mostly obscured by the water.

Unfortunately, I happened to open my eyes when T’Pol was just stepping into the pool wearing only her birthday suit. I snapped my head in another direction, but not before I saw it all.

Holy. Shit.

Certain parts of my body were in sudden and resounding agreement. My face was on fire as I covered the saluting member. It was like being a pimply teenager all over again. I tried to recite complex mathematic equations and picture engineering diagrams in my head, but my mind was overrun with images of T’Pol’s unquestionably-compatible-with-a-human body. I thought about drowning myself. There was no way in hell I was getting out of the pool in this condition.

“Do all human males have fur on their bodies?”

I opened my eyes (when had I closed them again?), and found the petite matriarch sitting next to me. It was the first time I’d had any interaction with her. I wanted to die right then. “No,” I said, glancing at the smattering of hair on my chest. “I mean, some don’t have any, and some have more than I do.”

T’Mal nodded. “Vulcans are the same, though we are not as genetically diverse as your species.”

I was tempted to confirm her statement with a glance at the rest of the nude clan, but that could mean another look at T’Pol. I kept my eyes on T’Mal’s face.

“What do you think of Sav-masu Wuh’rak?” She had a gaze that seemed to cut right into my soul.

“It’s been real enlightening,” I answered. Some parts more than others. “I, uh, appreciate you allowing me to participate.”

She nodded. “You appear uncomfortable.”

A blush rose to my cheeks. I considered telling her I was fine, but she’d probably know I was lying. “I’m not used to being in a community bath.” I wasn’t a prude, but I wasn’t as open-minded as I thought either.

“Ah, yes. I have heard this about humans,” T’Mal said. “You may leave if you wish.”

I took a quick gander at the rest of the Vulcans. Fortunately, T’Pol was nowhere in sight. No one seemed in a hurry to leave after washing up, and I knew I had two options. Either I left now, with as much dignity as I could muster, or I stayed put until every soul left the pool—and risked seeing T’Pol again. I didn’t want to feel like a Peeping Tom.

After hemming and hawing, I decided it would be better to get out now instead of prolonging my mortification. When I climbed out, it took everything I had not to dash to the far end of the room where my towel and robe hung. I’m pretty sure I was red from my head to my toes.

When I was properly covered again, I involuntarily glanced at the pool and was met with T’Pol’s gaze. She turned away, lowering her eyes. Such a simple look said everything. She’d seen just as much of me as I had of her. If Amanda had been in my shoes, she probably would have posed and told everyone to get a good look. The woman had more gonads than I did.

I left the chamber trying not to imagine what naked neuro-pressure would be like with T’Pol.

Who knew that hanging out with Vulcans would turn me back into the walking hormone I’d been as an adolescent?

* * *

T’Pol came to sit with me after the final feast, when the tables had been pushed back for dancing. This time the dancers acted out the sundering of Vulcan, where nearly half the clans left Vulcan after refusing to bridle their emotions in favor of logic and compassion. The story was told from the viewpoint of a single clan split by the separation—with the heartache for loved ones lost. T’Pol whispered that this was part of the history of the S’thk T’vuh.

I tried to keep my mind blank when, at the end of the performance, she reached for my hand. I was worried she would be able to sense my attraction to her—now that it had been magnified a hundredfold after the bathing incident. Fortunately, the unnamed sensation swept through us quickly, and I let go of her hand as soon as it passed.

Instead of going back to our rooms for self-reflection, the orchestra struck up again with a more lively tune. It was the _Plak-ha’kiv_, or Blood of Life. It wasn’t a performance piece, everyone could dance, but it did celebrate the cycle of birth and life—emphasizing the joining of two people for the creation of family. I was reminded of the period films my ma liked as I watched the others move around each other in intricate steps, only touching here and there with two extended fingers. They’d danced the Plak-ha’kiv a few of the other nights during the week.

“Will you join us?” T’Pol asked, rising from her seat.

I was jealous of how calmly she could interact with me. Hell, she probably treated seeing my nude form as a scientific observation. If only I could be so detached.

I sighed. “I’d probably trip everyone up.”

“Mastery of the dance is not expected of you.” She looked down at me with a lifted brow. “You will not have another opportunity to participate.”

She wasn’t going to let up until I gave in, as always. “Fine,” I said, standing. “But it’s your fault if I maim anybody.”

“It’s highly unlikely you will injure someone,” she replied, glancing at me as we lined up with the others, “that severely.”

I laughed in spite of the awkwardness, earning a few looks from other Vulcans.

When the music began, I did my best to imitate everyone else. It was about as complicated as it looked from the sidelines, and I stumbled once or twice. No one seemed to mind, though, and I relaxed a smidgen. The first part of the dance represented two lost souls—or katras, as Vulcans called them—in search of one another. The two lines of dancers wove in and out of each other until we faced our original partners again. This was the place where the music changed, slowed, and we took turns stepping around our partners. It represented finding our soul mate.

I was a little nervous when it came time for my fingers to meet T’Pol’s. I didn’t know what kind of stray thoughts or images she could sense through the touch. Did she have some kind mental shield she could put up? I sure as hell didn’t. And I didn’t want her disgusted by discovering how much this animal-flesh-eating human who drove her crazy wanted to kiss her—among other things.

If she felt anything, I couldn’t tell. Her expression was composed as ever, and I blew out a sigh of relief. As the dance repeated twice more (with me tripping fewer times with each round), I realized that my budding friendship with T’Pol would survive the unintentional streaking.

I just had to keep ignoring my growing attraction to her. Easy as pecan pie.

Yeah, right.


	3. Month Three

This is what a human wouldn’t do: wait until her thumbs were pressed into my inner thighs—dangerously close to the family jewels—before asking in a clinical voice, “Is it true that humans require frequent copulation for emotional and physical fulfillment?” And then, pressing deeper into my thigh muscles, say, “Has your lack of sexual intercourse during your stay on Vulcan had an adverse effect on you?”

Apparently, that’s exactly what a Vulcan did.

My first thought was to tell T’Pol that yes, a lack of sex was having an adverse effect, and would she please strip down and take care of that problem for me? All night long, preferably. It was a helluva lot better stress release than neuro-pressure.

“Is it true that Vulcans only mate every seven years?” I figured it was safer to turn the question back on her. I’d actually been using that bit of rumor to keep my hormones in check. It was harder to fantasize about someone who couldn’t physically do the deed.

She didn’t answer until she’d turned my legs to jello. “We do not speak of such things to outworlders,” she said, sitting back on her heels.

I propped myself up on my elbows. “There you go.” Of course humans talked about sex with everybody and their brothers—a fact T’Pol was probably well aware of after living on Earth for a while. My goal, however, was to steer her away from the subject altogether. I didn’t need to have sex on the brain when I was between her legs.

We traded positions. I located her neural nodes and closed my eyes. When she introduced this posture—_last night_—I was awake half the night, unable to scrub the image from my mind of her lying before me like that. I didn’t breathe at all while performing it the first time. I could barely breathe now.

Hell yeah, I was suffering immensely from deprivation. Truth be told, it was starting to make me cranky.

I leaned on my thumbs with the weight of my upper body, prepared to tell her about the new design I’d come up with for plasma converters that would improve engine efficiency by more than eighty percent. Talking about warp engines was a good distraction, and it even worked sometimes.

Before I could get a word out, T’Pol said, “It is a biological imperative.”

I opened my eyes. “What?”

“Harder, please.” She gave a meaningful glance to my hands.

The woman was going to kill me.

I did as she requested, hoping like hell her muscles would give soon. “What’s a biological imperative?” The question was out of my mouth before my brain made a connection from her seemingly random comment to the discussion I was trying to avoid.

“Vulcans are driven to mate every seven years, but—” She cut off with a gasp. _The_ gasp. The one that sounded like a woman who’d experienced a good round of copulation.

I snatched my hands back and nearly leapt onto the bed before I did something stupid like kiss her senseless right then and there. I’d never wanted a woman, body and soul, as much as I wanted T’Pol, and she was wholly untouchable—at least that way.

“As I was saying,” T’Pol said, sitting up, completely unaware she’d almost been mauled by a horny human, “Vulcans are driven to mate every seven years, but it does not preclude mating at other times. It can be a useful activity for strengthening the bond between mates.”

There went that tool for dampening my libido. “Oh,” was about all the response I could muster. There were two things that made a smart man stupider than moths buzzing around a light: lots of alcohol and lots of hormones. I was currently suffering from the latter now that I knew T’Pol could mate whenever she wanted. My brain happily provided supplemental images to go along with the revelation.

“Will you answer my questions now?” She stared up at me with a lifted brow.

“Huh?” I probably looked like an idiot.

She pursed her lips. Obviously, she didn’t notice I wasn’t firing on all cylinders at the moment. “Is frequent copulation a biological imperative for humans, and if so, do you find yourself experiencing adverse effects due to abstaining from the activity during your stay on Vulcan?”

“I’m an engineer not a biologist,” I said, silently congratulating myself on a coherent answer. “I’m sure you’ve got access to medical texts and the like. Go look it up.” I stood up and opened the door, gesturing for her to leave.

She stayed right where she was. “As a human, you are qualified to provide an adequate answer.”

“But not the best answer, right?” I said, again waving for her to make an exit. “So, go to whatever medical database that’s available to you and indulge your curiosity.” I was being a little snippy, but dammit, I was frustrated and needed some breathing room.

T’Pol got the message and stood up. Just outside of my room, she turned and said, “I don’t understand why you refuse to answer.”

“I’m an illogical human. Get used to it.” I closed the door before she could respond.

I regretted my actions as soon as my head hit the pillow. One way or another, the woman always had me tied up in knots.

* * *

The next morning, T’Les helped me prepare breakfast instead of T’Pol. I wanted to ask where T’Pol was, worried that I’d offended her with my immature behavior the night before, but I didn’t say anything as I washed the vegetables.

“You are attracted to my daughter,” T’Les said as she chopped the fruit. She glanced up at me. “There’s no logic in denying it.”

How the hell did a person respond to that? “She’s smart and beautiful.” I shrugged, forcing a grin. “Any guy would find her attractive.”

T’Les nodded. “The clan would not approve of her romantic involvement with you.”

Way to kick a man while he was down. My smile dipped, my cheeks burning from irrational indignation. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. We’re just friends.” I handed T’Les the veggies and prepared the rest of breakfast without another word.

After that “hands-off” conversation, I was at the house less and less. I threw myself into my studies, spending most of my time at the institute’s library. I made sure to always notify T’Les, as courtesy dictated, when I wasn’t going to make it home for dinner, which was pretty much every night. I’d leave before breakfast and sneak in long after dark. When T’Pol came knocking for neuro-pressure, I’d either pretend to be asleep or I’d tell her I was too busy studying. I hated lying to her, but even more, I hated being near her when I couldn’t act on my feelings. It was stupid, but no one ever accused a twenty-something of being wise—not even one who was a genius engineer.

It wasn’t just about sex. T’Pol was the first woman I met who could keep up with me when talking warp theory. She wasn’t pretending either like Natalie had, but truly understood every word I uttered on the subject. T’Pol challenged me, helped me to see things from a different perspective. I liked arguing with her. I liked her subtle sense of humor. Hell, I even liked that flicker in her eyes when she was getting frustrated with me. The fact was, somewhere between our crappy first meeting and that last neuro-pressure session, I’d started falling for her. Forget doomed romance. This thing wasn’t even getting out of the gates.

When I wasn’t at the library, I was hanging out with Amanda. It became our tradition to get drinks together after history class—just a couple of beers, nothing like that first night. Sometimes, I wished I was attracted to her. It would have been so much easier.

“So, two more weeks before you ship out?” Amanda asked one evening while we were sitting in the embassy bar.

“Yep.” I took a sip of my beer. I had mixed feelings about leaving Vulcan. I missed Earth with its lower gravity and water. Damn, I missed swimming in the ocean. I missed my family and my friends. But Vulcan was growing on me, too. I didn’t know when I’d get another chance to visit. Starfleet was keen on recruiting me after I graduated next year.

“My tour is up next month,” Amanda said. “I put in a request to extend, but it was denied.”

I raised my brows. “Sorry ‘bout that.” I hadn’t realized Amanda liked Vulcan that much. But maybe after her year here, it had grown on her too.

“No biggie.” She shrugged. “I’m getting out of the MACOs instead.”

“Really?” I swiveled on my stool to face her. “What’re you going to do?”

“There’s an opening for a translator at the embassy,” she said.

I shook my head. “Don’t most Vulcans speak Standard better than we do?”

“It’s for translating Vulcan broadcasts.” She grinned. “And I’m damn good with the language. Better than any of those corps desk-jockeys.”

I chuckled. Typical Amanda humility—or lack thereof. “Nobody’s ever going to call you modest.”

She schooled her expression, raising one brow like a Vulcan. “False modesty is illogical.”

I raised my bottle a snort. “You’ll fit right in.”

She stared at me all austere-like for a moment before crumbling into laughter. “I don’t think this round peg will ever fit into a square hole.”

“I think it’s the other way around. How many beers have you had?” I was pretty sure she hadn’t had enough to start mixing up phrases.

“There’s nothing square about me, and there never will be.” Amanda winked before taking a long drag from her bottle. “Soval offered me a job.”

I nearly spat my drink all over her. “Soval? The professor who can’t stand you? The guy who’s life you’re always trying to make miserable?”

“Hey!” She swatted my shoulder with a frown. “I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are.” That earned me another swat—a little harder than the last. I laughed.

“Anyway,” she said, scowling at me. “He’s an anthropologist when he’s not begrudgingly teaching history to idiot humans. He says my interest in other cultures and my high aptitude for learning make me ‘an acceptable candidate for an assistant—even though it would mean suffering my illogical need for provocation.’” She cocked her head. “I don’t know. It sounds like it could be fun.”

“It sounds like more opportunities to drive him crazy,” I said, smirking.

“That’s the fun part.” She flashed a wide grin. “I think I might take the job.”

I held up my drink. “To annoying the hell out of our favorite professor.”

“Here, here.” Amanda clinked her bottle with mine. “And to good friends. May we always keep in touch, no matter how far apart we are.”

We spent the rest of the evening coming up with new ways for Amanda to torment the professor and predicting what his reaction would be. We nearly got thrown out for laughing too loudly.

As I walked out of the embassy into the warm night air, I felt a little sad that things had to change. Everything was winding down.

* * *

T’Pol was waiting for me when I got home—in my room. I took one look at her silky-pajama-clad form sitting cross-legged on my bed and almost walked right back out. I wasn’t in the mood for confrontation, but if she had her mind set on having words with me, we were going to have them. Whether I liked it or not.

“What are you doing in my room?” I asked, closing the door behind me. Even if this was merely a determined neuro-pressure session, it was best to keep things private. My gut said I was more likely to get another biting lecture on my lack of courtesy.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said in a cold voice. That was a red-flag. Whenever she turned into the Ice Princess, that meant she was displeased to the extreme.

I decided to play it cool. “My studies have been keeping me busy.” I sat down on the bed opposite of her and pulled off my shoes. I was a mix of all kinds of emotions. Frustration that T’Pol wasn’t a regular girl I could just ask out. Frustration that I couldn’t ignore my attraction and enjoy our friendship. Frustration that I was the only one suffering.

All right, maybe I wasn’t so much mixed up as I was experiencing various forms of frustration.

“Not too busy.” T’Pol was practically shooting icicles from her eyes. “You have time to socialize with Miss Cole.”

I removed my socks before answering. I felt guilty at her accusation, and then angry that I felt guilty for hanging out with my friend. How the hell did T’Pol know where I was, anyway? “What makes you say that?”

“You smell like alcohol.” She gave me her Vulcan “duh, you idiot” look.

I’d forgotten about her sensitive Vulcan nose. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business who I socialize with and where I do it.” I tugged my shirt over my head, wondering why I didn’t just tell her the truth. Oh yeah, because she was making me feel like a damned cheater even though we weren’t in a relationship.

“Are you copulating with her?”

What. The. Hell.

I stared at her, dumbfounded. Several possible responses jumbled through my head. I almost said, “Yep, we’re copulating the hell out of each other. What’s it to you?” but thought better of it. Instead, I said, “Again, I’m pretty sure that qualifies as none of your business.” I held up a hand when she started to speak. “My relationship with Amanda doesn’t reflect poorly on your clan, so save your arguments.”

I was going to leave it at that, but suddenly, I was tired of all of this. I sighed, running a hand over my face. “Amanda and I are just friends, if that makes you feel better. We’re not sleeping together, and we never will,” I said, not looking at T’Pol.

There was a long moment of silence before she spoke. And when she did, it was in a small voice that cut right through me. “Then why are you avoiding me?”

I felt like I’d just won the Jerk of the Century award. I glanced at her. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable. I wanted to take her into my arms and apologize for everything I’d done wrong in my life. Scrubbing my fingers through my hair, I said, “Listen, it’s my problem. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

Her eyes went flat. It was like a wall just slammed down between us. “I am not hurt,” she said, coldness seeping back into her voice. “I merely desired an explanation for your change in behavior.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes. Unbelievable. The woman made a man want to put his fist through a wall. “You know what? Fine.” I threw my hands into the air, standing. “You want to know why I’ve been avoiding you? It’s because you drive me nuts! You’re so damn stubborn and know-it-all, I want to shake you. What’s worse, despite how frustrating you are, somehow I like you. I can’t get enough of you. I want to be with you. And that makes me even crazier!” I crossed my arms over my chest. “So, excuse me for thinking the best thing for my sanity would be to stay the hell away from you.”

There. I’d laid it all out before her. There was no way she’d talk to me after this. The thought made me sick to my stomach, but I didn’t see happily-ever-after happening here.

T’Pol rose from the bed, drawing herself up to her full petite height before me. “You are being irrational.”

I let out a mirthless laugh. “Oh, that’s rich. I’m irrational because I’m a goddamn human being with feelings—for _you_.” I walked over to the door and yanked it open. “This is exactly why I can’t be around you. I think we’re done here.”

She stepped up to me, staring me down like she could make me wither before her eyes. “If that is how you _feel_—”

“Damn straight.”

“—then I will no longer disturb you.”

“See to it, darlin’.”

Looking back, I could only guess it was a combination of several things that made me do what I did. Maybe it was because she didn’t make a move to step foot out of my room. Maybe I wanted to wipe that smug expression off her face. Or maybe, just maybe, despite all my anger, deep down I couldn’t let this be how we parted ways.

I kissed her.

Not the little “we’re just friends” kind of peck, either. I kissed her the way I’ve been wanting to for more than a month—like she was the last feast for a dying man. She went rigid at first, but before I could break off and apologize, she snaked her fingers through my hair and deepened the kiss. That was the end of all sense and reason for me. My world narrowed to her soft, burning lips and the feel of her silky pajamas against my bare chest.

I vaguely recall kicking the door shut before we stumbled to the bed.

* * *

I woke up alone.

I tried not to worry about what her absence meant, but I was pretty anxious when I went to the kitchen. T’Pol was already there, pulling things out of the status unit.

“Good morning,” I said, clearing my throat.

She glanced at me. “Good morning.” She put on the special gloves Vulcans wore for food prep and focused on washing the produce.

What did that mean? Was she pretending like nothing happened the night before? Was she expecting me to? I wasn’t sure I could.

I stepped behind her and, leaning forward, said in a low voice, “We should probably talk about what happened last night.”

She paused mid-scrub. “Perhaps later,” she whispered with a significant glance in the direction of her mother’s room.

“Oh, right.” I nodded, stepping back. “Later.”

We prepared breakfast in awkward silence, and neither of us spoke much during the meal. T’Les studied us over her teacup. She knew something was up, but thankfully, didn’t comment on the lack of conversation.

I was jittery all day, imagining how my discussion with T’Pol was going to go. One of my instructors mentioned that I seemed distracted. I told him I was thinking about my final project. I told T’Les the same lie when she said something about how quiet I was during dinner.

I had worked myself into a lather by the time T’Pol came knocking on my door, sure she was going to tell me it had all been a mistake, or that she was merely concerned for my health and provided the necessary copulation to fulfill my biological needs.

As soon as the door closed behind her, she attacked me with her lips. That was the only conversation we had on the matter.

We had the same conversation every night that week. That was good enough for me.

* * *

For a while, it was easy to pretend this would go on forever, easy to forget I was heading back home in just days. I only cared about two things: building the prototype for my plasma converter and T’Pol—and not always in that order.

Reality came crashing down on my last day of classes, the day before I was to ship out. I had received my final marks from the institute, all “acceptable”—the equivalent of high honors back on Earth. Soval gave me a grudging “exceptional” and qualified it with “for a human.” I laughed. The professor was a grumpy bastard to the end. He gave Amanda the same grade.

My gut was tied up in knots as I rode the public transit back to the house. I didn’t want this thing between T’Pol and me to be one of those flings a person had while they were away from home. She was on sabbatical; didn’t that mean she’d be coming back to Earth eventually? Nothing had to end, right?

It was a damn pipe dream.

At dinner, after asking about my final grades, T’Les said to T’Pol, “You’ve received a letter today.”

T’Pol glanced up. She’d been quiet throughout the meal. “From whom?”

“Koss.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop as the two women stared at each other. The color drained from T’Pol’s face. “Why was he here?” she asked.

T’Les took a sip of her tea before answering in a casual tone, “His clan is willing to renegotiate the terms of the marriage.”

My mini-tongs dropped to my plate with a loud clank as the earth seemed to fall out from under me. I turned to T’Pol and tried to keep my composure as I asked, “You’re engaged?”

“No,” T’Pol replied the same time T’Les said, “Yes.”

T’Pol gave her mother a pointed look. “I broke off the engagement more than a year ago. He should have found a suitable mate in the interim.”

Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived.

“You are being unreasonable,” T’Les said.

T’Pol gripped the cushions on the bench. “I will not renegotiate.”

T’Les’s expression softened. “Your place in the clan was already tenuous when you refused Koss. Will you risk being shunned for the sake of a fleeting romantic attachment to a human? Surely you understand your relationship with Mister Tucker has no future.” Her gaze was piercing. “If you persist in this, in the end you will have lost everything and gained nothing.”

It was like I wasn’t even the room. After a tense heartbeat, I realized I didn’t want to be. I excused myself to go make sense of all this in private.

I paced my room as I tried to come to terms with the state of things. I wanted T’Pol to tell her mother to go to hell. I wanted her to run away with me. Screw everyone. We could make this work.

And yet, I couldn’t forget holding hands with the clan. I couldn’t forget the overwhelming warmth, affection and unity they shared. T’Les was right. T’Pol would be sacrificing everything for a human she’d only known for a couple of months.

I stopped pacing, struck by a painful realization: I was in love with T’Pol. And because I loved her, I couldn’t ask her to walk away from her family for me.

It was over. All of it.

I pulled out my duffle bag and started packing, ignoring the aching hollowness growing in my chest. I tried to be grateful for the time I had with T’Pol, for the ways I’d grown because of our association, but I couldn’t get over my anger at the universe for being so damned unfair.

There was a soft knock on my door.

I sat on the bed with a sigh, knowing who it was. “Come in.”

T’Pol looked so small as she stepped into my room. “Trip,” she said, “I—”

“You don’t have to say anything,” I said, cutting her off. I glanced up at the ceiling, trying to find the least painful way to say goodbye. There wasn’t one. “It’s not like we’re D’Orvak and T’Seil, right?”

“I do not wish to bond with Koss.” She sat down next to me. I was going to miss her spicy honey scent.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I don’t want you to, either.” With a deep breath, I turned to her and went on, “But you don’t turn your back on family. I won’t let you.”

Her expression was so pained, I almost wrapped my arms around her and told her that we’d find a way. We wouldn’t, though. Standing, I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder.

T’Pol rose with me. “You’re leaving?”

“It’s probably best if I stayed at the embassy,” I said, “under the circumstances.” I was afraid if I didn’t go, my resolve to do the right thing would crumble like a house of cards. I took her face in my hands and gave her the saddest kiss I’d ever experienced. “I’ll never regret knowing you,” I whispered when we broke apart. “Goodbye, T’Pol.”

I felt like someone had cut my heart out with a dull knife as I left her behind.

The next day, Amanda went with me to the space port to see me off. I looked for T’Pol, but she never came.

* * *

It was strange to be back on Earth. The weather seemed cold, even though it was summer in my part of the world. My feet seemed to spring with every step I took. Everything was light and airy and damp. The exact opposite of what I felt inside.

I took the summer term off and went home to visit my family. Even though I was glad to see them again, I felt like I was going through the motions. At the end of two weeks, Bert handed me the keys to his beach house. He said I looked like I needed some alone time. I did.

A month later, I was sitting on a deckchair, reading Amanda’s latest letter and nursing a beer when someone rang the doorbell. “Out back!” I hollered, thinking it was one of Bert’s friends.

My heart stopped when I glanced up and found T’Pol coming around the house. She wore long pants and a coat, and was even more breathtaking than I remembered. I rose out of my chair, at a loss for words.

“The pattern of your shirt is disconcerting,” she said as she closed the distance between us.

I glanced down at my shirt and laughed, nervous as hell. “What’re you doing here?”

She clasped her hands behind her back and took in the view. “I did not renegotiate with Koss.”

At once, I felt elated and riddled with guilt. “What about your family?”

She turned back to me, raising a brow. “It would seem that you have made an agreeable impression on T’Mal. She and my mother do not approve, but they have accepted my decision. Soval argued in my favor.”

My mouth dropped open. _Soval?_ The professor who could barely stand humans supported our relationship? “So, you’re not being shunned?”

“No, though I am no longer considered a candidate for leading the clan,” she said. “I doubt I was a true candidate before.”

This all sounded too good to be true. I nearly pinched myself. “And we can be together?”

She hesitated before saying in a quiet voice, “If that is your wish.”

“Hell yes, it is!” I pulled her into my arms and kissed away her doubts. I led her back into the house to show her just how much I wanted to be with her. At that moment, there wasn’t a happier man on Earth—or Vulcan, for that matter.

Early the next morning, Henry Archer’s son came calling, offering me the chance to head up the crew building the first full warp engine. I told him I’d think about it, and then left him standing on the porch while I went back to bed with T’Pol.

I’d be damned if I ever let anything get between us again.

**~FIN~**


End file.
